Louisville Magazine is Louisville's city magazine, covering Louisville people, lifestyles, politics, sports, restaurants, entertainment and homes. Includes a monthly calendar of events.
Issue link: https://loumag.epubxp.com/i/669874
58 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 5.16 "Hunter Greene! Tat must be Old Man Greene's boy." "Who's Old Man Greene?" I said. Everybody else in the car laughed. Sharon slowed at a junction and parked on a gravel shoulder across from the store — a white clapboard building on a stone embankment over the crossroads. Above the doors was a sign: Carriss's Grocery and Snack Bar. On the porch, a Coca-Cola vending machine stood next to a Pepsi machine. In the corner: a working, old-timey gas pump. We mounted the porch steps, and Matt swung open the screen door. I followed him into an open space of wooden foorboards that looked smooth as polished silver. Toward the front, shelves displayed Crisco, Ronco lasagna, Matador beef jerky, Monster energy drinks, framed pictures of Tubby Smith and Rick Pitino (in their UK days). Near the ceiling and recessed along the back walls were lard presses, grits- grinders, railroad lanterns, a Rocket gumball machine, three- and fve-gallon whiskey jugs made of white limestone and banded with blue stripes marked "Mountain XXX Dew." Ahead of me, Matt was calling to somebody. I followed without hearing, looking at the cigar cutters, pouches of loose tobacco labeled "Bull Durham," a metal device engraved with "Chew Buzz Saw Tobacco" and a red tin with a picture of Prince Albert ("Crimp Cut Long Burning Pipe and Cigarette Tobacco"). I marveled at how many of these relics had to do with tobacco. "Hey, June, this is the guy I was telling you about," Matthew was saying to a man behind a counter. "He's writing an article about you." I held out my hand. "Hi, I'm Charles. I'm Matt's nephew." June was middle-aged, but his hair was still boyishly thick. When he took my hand, his grip was sinewy with muscle. "And you'd admit that in public?" he said. I laughed. "I'm interested in writing an article about Carriss's — if you don't mind." "I don't know anything about that," June told me. "My wife handles all that." "She's back here, man," Matt said, leading past a potbelly stove with a tube like an elephant trunk connected to the wall. As we moved into the open kitchen, I counted six tables and 25 chairs. We had missed the lunch rush, but a few men were still sipping cofee. Vivian, June's wife, was wiping her hand on a towel and smiling with such vibrancy that her cheeks reminded me of a silk shade placed around a lit candle. I ordered the same as Matt — a pork tenderloin sandwich, and a hamburger, and a salad — and picked out a bottled Coke from a fridge. In 15 minutes, we were eating. Vivian and June joined us at the table, bringing a volume on Shelby County for me to page through. Tey had bookmarked sections about country stores with sugar packets. I fipped to an article on Carriss's: "A crossroads general store has served the community since 1882," it read. "Te store has been run by the Heiden, Ratclif, Skelton, and Carriss families." Te Carriss family took over in 1978 and have run it ever since. Originally, "the Carriss family" meant Jay and Bessie Carriss, Vivian's parents. In 2003, Jay sufered a fatal heart attack one night defending Carriss's from burglars, but Bessie still lives across the road and still works in the store. Vivian and June married in 1982, when they started helping Vivian's parents — up before 6 a.m. and working at least 12 hours a day, for 40 years. "It's a real good place for people to come in, get to know their neighbors," June said. He told me that the store hadn't changed much since 1978. Tey still serve breakfast, and a plate lunch. Te opening of deer season in November is the busiest time of the year, when Vivian sometimes cooks more than 100 hamburgers a day. Some things have changed, though: More people used to buy farm-related items. "Tobacco, fencing supplies, The Southville store dates back to the 1890s.